Heir of Slytherin: Rising
by Pensieve Plotter
Summary: Before he became a killer, Tom Riddle became a rapist. In his Third year, Riddle shed his name to create the mask of Voldemort, then; known only to his Cult: 'The Dark Order'. He is obsessed with his newfound ancestry and also with Head Girl, Sarah Smith.
1. Prologue: Badger and Snake

**Please review!**

HEIR OF SLYTHERIN: RISING

"Within a few short years he shed his name, creating the identity of Lord Voldemort behind which he has been hidden for so long…"  


- Albus Dumbledore, Harry Potter and the Halfblood Prince.

Author's NOTE: I got part of the inspiration for this story from "Hannibal Rising." In this fic, I could say Voldemort is similar to Hannibal Lecter. For Tom Riddle will be studying the healing arts like Lecter. Plus Voldemort is mainly motivivated by a quest for revenge similar to Lecter's motivations. And then, Voldemort does develop a near-affection for a particular woman, like Lecter with his aunt. I thought I'd say this just in case there are some hannibal lecter fans here! I am not doing this on purpose, I only noticed this.

Here is my version of the coming of age tale of the darkest wizard of all time. How did Tom Riddle shed his name and create the mask of Lord Voldemort? It is the story of a mad genius who is both terrible and vulnerable at once. Beginning with Tom Riddle's discovery that his father had never set foot in Hogwarts. He becomes obsessed with his ancestry once he learns he's the Heir of Slytherin and links this obsession to a young woman he believes can give him all he desires. Eighteen-year-old Sarah Smith, the noble and sophisticated head girl. And then there are three boys, older than Riddle who are future Death Eaters that bully Tom for being Halfblood. Find out how Voldemort in his mere Third Year, and at 14 years of age, successfully established his cult and also what losing his virginity cost for him in the end.

UNINVITED

"Like anyone would be  
I am flattered by your fascination with me  
Like any hot blooded woman  
I have simply wanted an object to crave  
But you're not allowed  
You're uninvited  
An unfortunate slight

Must be strangely exciting  
To watch the stoic squirm  
Must be somewhat heartening  
To watch shepard meet shepard  
But you're not allowed  
You're uninvited  
An unfortunate slight

Like any uncharted territory  
I must seem greatly intriguing  
You speak of my love like  
You have experienced like mine before  
But this is not allowed  
You're uninvited  
An unfortunate slight

I don't think you unworthy  
I need a moment to deliberate"

"Uninvited" by Alanis Morissette

****

PROLOGUE: BADGER AND SNAKE

It was the most beautiful summer day. Joyful twitters of birds mixed with the content voices of children. Verdant colours of nature surrounded a group of children queuing up for their annual day trip. But one child – a little boy, dark haired and pale stood at the end of the queue. Despite being surrounded by a crowd of peers his age the little boy felt as lonely as ever.

The boy remained quiet. He hardly registered the sunlight warming his back. The others may be full of an unusual excitement for today. Yet he was determined not to be.

The children laughed and looked around with bright interest. But the lone little boy looked down at the earth, scuffing his feet. He was bored. So painfully dull was the moment. A desire for stimulation consumed him.

And then he found something to hold his interest. He smiled to watch a snake slink through the lush grass. 'Much like himself' he thought.

For he identified with that snake. Before he knew what he was doing, a force he could not quite place drove him. The little boy knelt down in the grass in his breeches and shoes. Words slipped from his mouth in a language. A language he did not understand how he knew, but somehow he could speak a foreign tongue.

The children continued to chatter and the orphanage chaperones were calling out harsh orders. Yet the boy drowned them out, concentrating solely on convening with the creature. He was alone with the creature, safely away in the field.

"Serpent, where is your family?" whispered the little boy in the strange language.

The boy's dark pupils dilated and his brown irises gleamed. The snake was actually answering him back! Flicking its tongue the snake spoke sagaciously, "Mine is an old family…I am bringing them what they need. Food to curb our hunger!"

The boy nodded. He could rationally understand this need. He himself feared he could starve if ever the orphanage decided to throw him out on the street.

Suddenly a gray object flitted by on the ground. Both boy and snake saw it. The snake darted ahead to catch it's prey: a rat. The boy followed in close pursuit.

But all too soon another predatorily creature came prattling along. A creature with honey coloured fur and soft glistening brown eyes.

"Watch for the badger, Snake!" demanded the little boy.

The snake reared its head angrily to strike at the badger. But the badger was too quick. She scampered away and caught the rat by the teeth. It squealed and struggled, but on some level the rodent knew he must submit to his fate and die.

The snake was forced to watch in defeat as the badger escaped with the meal that should never have been his.

The boy felt a stab of anger. He bit his lower lip. "Get your revenge on that badger snake! She stole your lunch! Seek her out! Kill!"

The snake recoiled to pursue the badger. But the snake didn't need to for amazingly, the badger was returning to the snake.

The badger was clever enough to evade the snake long enough to get behind the back of the snake. But the snake whipped around and with a wild hiss sunk it's fangs into the badger's flesh. At once the badger curled up swollen and paralysed. She lost consciousness.

"Ah, you poisoned your enemy Snake…" surmised the little boy intelligently whilst feeling very much entertained. "Good."

The snake trailed away and disappeared down a hole. The little boy sighed and with a delight, his fingers shook.

He reached out and picked up the badger. It was true he could not be more delighted. This would be the perfect fun thing for him to play with today. He thought how he would kill the animal and maybe even feed it to the snake!

He looked cuter than ever but crueler than ever too with a beatific smiling pursing his lips. He clasped the badger's limp body held in his quivering hands. Yes. He would make friends with the snake, or to be more precise an alliance.

Expressionless and lacking affect the little boy pretended to talk to the badger. He almost believed the creature could hear him. "Why hello there, little badger…I am going to discard you."

But another voice rent the air from several yards away dispelling their privacy. The boy jumped and with lightning reflexes flung the badger far off, where it would remain unconscious and shrouded in the grasses.

A woman's irate and greatly irked voice was calling for him. "Tom. Tom Riddle!…Oh where is that child off to now?" It was the orphanage matron, Mrs. Cole.

Time passed in a blur of indiscriminate faces. The sun was much lower in the sky when the boy named Tom returned to the spot. He was eager to see what had come of the badger and the snake.

The sight that befell his eyes when he crept over there disturbed Tom. The badger had reawakened since the snake had bitten it.

Unperturbed, the badger managed to sneak up on the clever snake and sink it's teeth into the snake's tail. In one gobble the badger devoured the snake. Tom looked mutinous now and glowered at the badger. Tom now had a real reason to kill this thing, and not just for the amusement that killing it would have brought to him beforehand. Tom let out a pained, piercing scream almost like a cry and moved forward to go after the badger.

But the badger managed to continue on its journey completely unscathed. At the same moment a swarm of people were surrounding Tom. Mrs. Cole had a look of curiosity on her face as she peered at the boy. In all the years she had known him he almost never cried. she looked grateful that the boy seemed to have calmed down on his own.

Like a television flicking off, everything faded away. A boy twice the age of the seven-year-old child awakened in his bed from the dream.

Tom Riddle was now a teenager of fourteen. He had a handsome, clean-shaven face. He had been sleeping in his dormitory at Hogwarts School. It had been only a dream. But it was an actual memory of something particularly memorable from when he was seven. He hadn't thought of that pivotal moment in years. The very first time he spoke Parseltongue had indeed been strange.

Feelings of loss and rage surged through the young man's veins, feelings he could not understand. He lay in his four poster bed, safe and sound. He breathed heavily and gulped back his feelings. Now was not the time to ponder or confront this.

The boy rose. He proceeded to grab his black robes from the back of the chair. He hurried to get ready for breakfast and his first class of the day, Divination taught by a lady named Professor Pettigrew.

**  
NOTE: Please reivew. If you do I will have motivation to keep writing what I've already planned so extensively. This entire dream is symbolically very important to the story. The badger and the snake represent the relationship he will have with Sarah Smith! Tom is the snake and Sarah is the badger. **


	2. The Heir's Revelations

**Please review!**

**CHAPTER ONE: THE HEIR'S REVELATIONS**

It wasn't long after breakfast that Tom Riddle had to make his way to the Divination tower. He wasn't looking forward to going to the sequestered space in the castle. Since last term, Divination had become his least favorite subject. Even worse than Muggle Studies which he secretly abhorred. But he didn't know how starting today all of this was about to change….

A slither of light was visible from the only window at the top of the tower. A woman emerged from it, humbly descending the stairs. Somehow her presence seemed to destroy the morning light, replacing it with her own dazzling brilliance.

She past walls covered in ivy and willow, until she came to her classroom. The classroom looked more like a nature room, currently filled with pungent exotic flowers.

"So much change is evident in the illusion we call the world," the woman said freely. She smiled down at the thirty young faces glancing up at her expectantly.

Professor Persephone Isabell Pettigrew wore shining dark green, almost obsidian coloured robes. Her skin was sallow as she rarely ventured outside. She had startlingly gray eyes that could go from light to dark looks very easily, and long raven hair. It was rather unusual to see a witch in her fifties wear her hair all the way down her back. Persephone had once been a radiant beauty, noble and unusually wise in her youth. Throughout her dark and somewhat mysterious past she maintained her slender frame, yet her gorgeous looks were now faded with age.

The Divination teacher went on with her odd, but somehow, jarringly perceptive comments, "In all of you I can see change faster than the tides of the moon. Speaking of the moon, do any of you know from your Astronomy class what phase we're presently in?"

Riddle hesitated. He'd rather not engage the professor. He had already spent all last term developing opinions on the woman. It was rare, but he found he had hardly respected this professor for her knowledge, unlike all his other teachers.

He didn't have to answer. A Ravenclaw spoke up. "The moon is in first quarter and waxing, professor!"

"Correct. A point to Ravenclaw!" Professor Pettigrew waved her hands congratulating the Ravenclaw boy, her black polished fingernails flashing.

The Ravenclaw smiled pompously. Tom didn't look, too intent upon staring at the covers of his other texts. He wondered why he'd wasted time signing up for Divination last year. He thought on what a mistake it had been.

Professor Pettigrew gathered herself. "Yes. It is indeed an important time in all of your lives. Of course you are prepubescent adolescents!" She laughed gaily. Tom felt his cheeks colour and he swept the room, as if daring anyone to look his way. Nobody did, of course.

"But I mean much more. Of course, when the moon waxes, unconscious thoughts, even memories are brought to light. Manifesting through dreams when the moon is visible in the skies."

The class nodded dully. It was still too early in the morning.

"But enough. Last term we examined dream interpretation and palmistry. This is a new term, I hope all of you had a good holiday, but we must get back to the grindstone.

"Necromancy….The art of protection from spirits. But spirits also explain the origin of trance. We will not be practising Necromancy. It is a much too dangerous subject to train amateurs in. If you are born as a seer with the gift, well then…That is another matter altogether."

Tom Riddle rolled his dark eyes. 'Seers!' he scoffed to himself mentally. He'd spent all last term inside this over-perfumed room hearing Professor Pettigrew explain both the pitfalls and merits to being a Seer! It all had sounded like a load of rubbish to him. Unlike all his other classes, this was the only one he hadn't read ahead in.

"Yes,….Necromancy," Professor Pettigrew droned on. "Necromancy is directly related to higher powers and thus can explain the creation of prophecies."

Tom suppressed a shudder. It sounded like Professor Pettigrew was practically talking of raising the dead. This frightened him and he felt his instincts for skepticism kick in. He raised his hand.

"Yes? What is our 'Doubting Thomas going to refute today?"

There was a slight sound of laughter and talk in the class. Riddle only just barely suppressed flinching irritably at the common sound of his name, and worse said wrongly. He shifted where he was slouching on a velvet pouf in the back. Straightening himself and the tie under his black robes he corrected stiffly, "Tom. Just Tom…"

"Yes, Tom…" she said boredly.

Riddle felt a twinge of anger at her regard for him, but shook it off and he went on with his argument, "Might I ask where is the evidence prophecies exist? How can we claim them as real unless they are proven, and that is, proven prior to hindsight?"

"Real prophecies exist, Mr. Riddle. Classified intelligence catalogued by the Ministry of Magic. And yes, many were fulfilled throughout the ages….And some of them not. Those remain uncharted territory."

Tom felt the hair rise on the back of his neck. He didn't like this sensation at all, or worse what the mad professor was implying to him.

The class went back to its usual stupor within five minutes after the exciting subject of prophecy. Riddle continuously daydreamed about other classes and other matters, including many of his darkest fantasies, consisting of his most secretive fears.

"For homework….Memorize the first ten of 'The World's Most Infamous Prophecies' on page 15. And explain the ramifications they hold for Wizards….This will be on th! quiz!"

Tom made a mental note in his head. He didn't rush off for Ancient Runes like he normally did after Divination. Patiently, he lagged behind whilst everyone left. Even after the silly girls were gone Riddle was still there. Those were the silly girls who believed Professor Pettigrew's subject whole-heartedly and hung onto her every word.

Professor Pettigrew raised a thinly slanted brow and squinted, "Is there a question?"

Riddle came closer, and spoke nearly in a whisper; "I wanted to know if you knew…what makes a Seer."

"Well, Mr. Riddle….I'm afraid Seers are born. Not made. Why ever would you ask? You seem not to be uninterested in my subject, I'm afraid."

Tom didn't answer. He turned away to leave when he was stopped by the professor's polite interrogation. "May I ask why you're interested?"

Riddle turned around, his handsome face morphing into doubt again. He spoke carefully. "Today, you told me there are real prophecies, professor. You implied this is proven fact in the foundation of magical law…Is this the truth or…is it not?"

The woman nodded, but while her face had been gay before, there was something about this boy's pondering that made her smile falter to a grim frown.

Riddle asked, "Then what happens to those who are the subject of prophecies? Does the ministry inform them?"

"Their families are informed at once. However, such knowledge is not released to the public until the child turns seventeen. By law, the Unspeakables cannot release the information until they are of age. Why?"

"Nothing," he almost hissed in a sneer. Scoffing to himself he turned away. He hated to think of himself as a child. Riddle felt hope, turning into certainty that there must be a prophecy pertaining to himself. It would all make sense, having no family, nobody could have told Tom Riddle he was destined for greatness. He must discover for himself what it might mean for his future. And also, there were many other things he needed to learn. But first, he had to know of his roots….

Tom Riddle strode down an outdoor corridor, crossing a bridge, his steps brisk. The bleak January sun hung low in the mid-afternoon sky, yet Riddle hardly registered anything but himself. He was in a hurry to get to the library before dinner.

He paid no attention to passerby's, too intent upon his personal goals. His hand clutched the handle of a faded leather briefcase, full of his books and schoolwork. Last summer, during his annual stay at the orphanage, Tom shoplifted the item from a store, using his powers to do it. Nobody had even known a boy was in the shop, nor had anyone seen the goods go missing. He was quite used to stealing all his life. It meant little to him. But presently his mind was intent upon something much more interesting than petty thievery.

He recalled his Herbology professor's reminder. Soon Riddle would be starting his study in a special, accelerated program. Tom was eager to learn new magical skills.

He could still hear the Herbology teacher call after him, "Tom…I shall see you this Friday afternoon with my Junior Healers."

Tom assented his agreement ardently. He would be there.

And the Herbology teacher had even mentioned his time-turner, saying it would be very useful, and not just for the full course load Riddle was already enrolled in at Hogwarts. In addition, the professor had told Tom his participation in the Healer's Program would require much time and effort and he might need to use his Time Turner more frequently.

"What is the first thing the doctors teach sir?" He'd asked just minutes ago.

"Doctors?… Healer's !" at this slight admonishment Riddle frowned. He hated to be reminded, even indirectly of his muggle upbringing and the occasional slip of the tongue it brought. "The first subject covered is Alchemy, Mr. Riddle. Of course one could spend several lifetimes studying Alchemy and never master it. It'll be just the theory, mind you. But a very advanced magical theory it is, especially ambitious for a Third Year…"

Tom had sensed the doubt in the Professor's tone. Riddle did not like to hear it. But he would soon prove everyone wrong.

"I must be off…My Choir meets today…" With a friendly wave the professor left Tom alone in the greenhouse.

And with his final class of Herbology out of the way, this left Riddle for time in the library.

**Note: I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please review. Both professors play a big part in this story. I am making her surname Pettigrew, because she is a Pureblood related closely to both Neville and Wormtail! Neither is Persephone like Trelawney, she is very different and a true seer, not acting as a fraud. And Riddle is very engaging and fascinating in this story, but I assure you, he will be astoundingly evil for a 14-year-old! **


	3. The Heir's Revelations 2

**Please review! I have decided to continue with this story. I feel it is going to be a special take on Tom Riddle as a coming of age story. However, the beginning is going to be difficult, because I don't know how Sarah and Tom came to know each other. I am also bad at writing beginnings. **

**Continuation of….**

**Chapter Two: The Heir's Revelations**

The boy was sequestered in an alcove at the library. It only offered space for but one occupant, one chair, a desk and a reading lamp. He pored over books, searching and searching with feverish intensity. He'd been doing this off and on for years, and still had not found anything. He'd long since given up on his parents attending Hogwarts, but their names must be somewhere in the world.

Above in glorious visual depiction was the Pureblood's ancient fairytales, composed by Beedle the Bard. The boy was still oblivious to these tales, having no background in Pureblood traditions.

By luck he came across an interesting anecdote. The Emerald Tablet. He did his best to translate the hieroglyphics into English as fast as possible.

It was rumored to be located in the Chamber of Secrets. Impatiently, Riddle turned to the next page.

He'd only just begun his search of the castle a month ago. There were no further clues to the Chamber's location, just this mention of a mysterious Emerald tablet.

Tom's eyes widened with excitement. It was said to possess special powers that only the heir would unlock. Since First Year, he'd known that he was the Heir. But still, there was no proof of it yet.

A bundle of Latin scrolls was pushed aside. Another great tome was opened. He took up again the same search, going through the Wizarding genealogy books.

There must be some trace of his ancestors somewhere in one of these volumes. He may have been born in an orphanage, but surely his roots came from somewhere! How else could I be so brilliant, he thought, without parents that were extraordinary?

Inwardly, he felt a pang of doubt. If his parents were such extraordinary witches and wizards like him, why would they abandon their boy to a muggle institution?

Riddle spent several hours in tedious scanning through the book. Laboriously reviewing ever single line that crossed every witch and wizard since the Dark Ages.

At the same time, he meditated on the tablet. He knew already the tablet held alchemical secrets, it was going to be talked of in the Junior Healer program he had signed up for. The ultimate symbol for medical expertise is the caduceus, which is often referred interchangeable as the Rod of Asclepius. The Rod was a single snake with no wings.

The Emerald Tablet must be buried in the Chamber of Secrets. He could deduce that the book and invariably the Chamber was located in a significant place like Hogwarts or the Ministry or perhaps even St. Mungo's. Every cornerstone of Hogwarts would be plundered first, since Salazar had taught here.

All he knew today was that his mother was called Merope. Since First Year, Riddle had known that he must be the Heir of Slytherin, but had no conclusive proof. Nobody knew he could speak Pareseltongue because that would have given himself away. It had been best to keep it a secret.

Whilst they would have been stunned to hear he was a Pareseltongue, that was not the proof he needed to convince others. He longed to brag that he was the last living descendant, but without proof it was foolish. The Slytherins would laugh in his face and remind him that he came from a London orphanage. But if he had proof that he was the Heir, he could finally throw away his dreary, lonely childhood. And in doing so, carve the grand future he was already planning and thus start gathering a following. It would all have to be done under a new guise, a new identity and down another name. But what?

A surge of shame seethed through his veins. The name Tom Marvolo Riddle wasn't good enough. Riddle was not a Pureblood name, and therefore his father was a nobody.

He came across the name of Gaunt, a Pureblood surname. Slowly Riddle traced all of the names. Finally the years came closer to his time and there was a woman born in 1907 called Merope Gaunt.

By no coincidence his mother was named Merope. This must be her record. The death was in 1926, the year he was born. The matron, Mrs. Cole told the boy everything she knew. Her uterus had not stopped contracting after giving birth to a new life, to him. And so his mother bled to death. She gave birth to Tom in one hour, and was dead within the next hour on a cold New Year's Eve.

Her last words had been to name him, "Tom" for his father. "Marvolo" for his grandfather and then most oddly she chose the surname "Riddle." It had been for his father, but which Riddle? Who was this man called Riddle?

Riddle could smell something rotten. He had a hunch that this man wasn't magic, he was a muggle. Already, he felt rising hatred for his father.

And how could he have missed Marvolo! Riddle saw that this woman Merope was directly related to Marvolo Gaunt. This must be his family!

Greedily he read up more on the Gaunts. They were directly related to Slytherin as the last surviving line.

The boy's heart leapt with insane happiness bursting forth. Here was the evidence he'd been searching for, for such a very long time! He was indeed the Heir of Slytherin.

It was he who would find the Chamber someday. In it would be the Emerald Tablet, or as those ridiculous muggles called the Holy Grail. His.

A smile flickered slowly on the handsome face. These revelations only confirmed his brilliance and his specialness.

Riddle read more on the excerpt concerning the Gaunt family. It filled him with great disappointment. The Gaunts were nearly all dead and for centuries lived nomadic lives in the English countryside. It was going to take a long time, probably years to track down where Marvolo Gaunt lived. His witch mother had not attended Hogwarts, though his grandfather had. Riddle thought it small wonder that his mother chose not to use magic to live, not even choosing to do magic for the sake of her son. Instead, she chose to die, it was a shame she was such a weakling!

Sadly, neither parent had ever set foot in Hogwarts. And most interesting of all, there was nothing written about his father! It made him angry and terribly disappointed. Not a single tear, but a trickle of blood spilt down his chin from biting the lower lip.

But at least concerning his future, he'd saw that he'd known it all along somehow. But now it was different. For he possessed the confidence to tell a select few about himself, for here was the evidence. The Purebloods could no longer deny him entry into their world. They could no longer deny him entry into their gang at Hogwarts. In fact, they would welcome him as worthy, and slowly Riddle would make sure to be crowned leader, amassing his own following.

As a Third Year, he was really starting to move up in the school. It was time to get started.

There was a glorious wave of euphoria still inside his heart. The young man sank back in the chair and gazed upwards upon stain-glass renditions of the Warlocks Hairy Heart. He carefully considered every Pureblood wizard at Hogwarts, taking special consideration to recruit the Slytherins.

**NOTE: Please review! **


	4. The Head Girl

**Please review!**

**Chapter Three: The Head Girl**

Tom could make himself invisible when he wanted to.

In the firelight he observed a group of older boys. It was late, and the Slytherin common room had finally thinned out.

At the same time he pored over an Astronomy book memorizing it all for tomorrow. Riddle wished the stars would show him where he belonged, and prove it too. The hat was right about Slytherin, he'd always believed it. And he'd discovered he was the Heir of Slytherin today. This was exciting! However, it wasn't enough.

Riddle listened to a boy named Antonin bragging, "I got her to kiss me last week. It wasn't hard after I bought the spangled robes she wanted!"

"So let me guess...Your idea of getting a girl to bed is bribing?"

"Well, if you put it that way, Wilkes! But I wouldn't call it that. I won't bribe a girl ever again. That is for sure."

Another boy interjected. "So how was it? Was she good?"

The boldness of their questioning was pathetic. Weren't these things private? thought Tom. Who would talk so freely about such matters? But Tom had no friends to confide in and didn't know how boys like to share these things.

Antonin Dolohov snorted unpleasantly. "It was all over pretty fast. That one doesn't want anything but a simple shag. And certainly none of the Cruciatus curse."

Riddle had grown bored almost. But at the mention of an Unforgiveable Curse, his eyes gleamed. He'd long since started practicing all three Unforgiveables on animals. But it just wasn't the same. People were much more satisfying subjects, and yet he'd never used the Killing curse on a person. Yet.

Tom's eyes alighted, and looked up watching them unseen. The idea of linking intercourse with the torture curse might not be such a bad idea. Perhaps this was something he should try.

"Have some more Firewhiskey," prodded one of the boys. Dolohov was slowly growing inebriated, the alcohol may have loosened his tongue to divulge the details of his romping in the bedroom.

"Thanks. You know, Black it's awesome that your father buys you everything you want and sends it by owl."

"He's been sending special treats all along," said the Black boy with an evident air of entitlement.

Riddle felt a twinge of jealously. How he wished he had someone to send him treats, presents and galleons to spend whilst at Hogwarts! But of course as an orphan he had nothing and nobody.

"I did enjoy it. But still there was no fucking in the ass. She wouldn't have it, and my favorite thing to do is to turn a pretty girl over, once I get tired of looking at their face!"

Tom felt an air of superiority at these words. It was almost insulting to be in their presence, even if invisible. Clearly Antonin possessed no restraint. To discuss such things so bluntly showed a lack of sophistication. He thought if _he_ ever did have sex, nobody was going to know the details!

The conversation ended soon after and the boys went to their dormitories. Riddle slipped past unnoticed.

That night, as he settled into bed, he felt a growing, gnawing sensation inside. Perhaps, it would be good to release some of these desires, thought Tom. He was having a lot of wet dreams. He'd always considered sex beneath him. But if he could find somebody worthy...

On the back of his mind the next day Voldemort considered who he should choose. He had to have the most powerful, beautiful and intelligent witch in the school.

A young woman with flaming dark red hair, chestnut brown eyes, and porcelain skin walked into the Great Hall.

"Oh, Diana, and Vera! I wanted to ask if you're going to Sluggy's social tomorrow!"

"We're going to be there, Sarah. It's at seven o'clock."

"Merlin, that is late," said the red-head girl named Sarah. "I should be studying, so I stay top of the class. You know how hard I've worked to beat Raphael!"

"So you're not going to go?"

"I guess I will," said Sarah reluctantly. "But Merrythought must content with my essay being late. For surely, she wouldn't give the Head Girl detention!"

Sarah laughed at her own joke and placed schoolbooks on the bench. She sat down next to her friends. Each one of the girls seemed to adore Sarah and admire her greatly.

Tom was observing them all in the background, taking in all of this. He wasn't invisible this time.

But he knew a group of Seventh year schoolgirls would never notice a Third Year, no matter how brilliant and handsome he was.

He watched them chat together, and studied Sarah more. Yes, she was a reputable Pureblood and known throughout Hogwarts a as a great beauty. She was tall, and slim without blemish or freckle, just like him. They would make a good match at least physically.

It was no exaggeration that Tom Riddle had never before looked at women, but here he was doing it.

She tossed her head, the flaming tresses fell over the angular shoulders. She fidgeted. The posture was perfectly supine. She thought highly of herself then, as her friends had slouches, he compared.

Riddle found himself staring at the curves of breasts stretching over a silk chemise shirt. They were rounded and large, and suddenly he wanted them.

Sarah rose. Riddle was still raking her, now getting a full view of the length of her, and noting an hour-glass shape. He couldn't help himself, and the Head Girl hadn't seen him.

But Sarah finally did see it.

"Hey. Who is that young boy? He keeps staring!"

Riddle quickly averted his gaze and coolly pretended to look through his bag.

"Oh," said Diana dully, without interest. "He's just an orphan called Tom Riddle. A Third Year. Brilliant I hear. But nobody's good enough for him. Never had a girlfriend. Never even went out with a girl to Hogsmeade!"

Sarah sighed. And tried to think of something else. But she did not trust that boy, and the dark looks he'd given from across the Great Hall.

Vera still wanted the latest dish on her friend. "So are you going with Raphael?"

Sarah started walking slowly out the Great Hall, her friends trailing behind. Nobody knew that Tom had made himself invisible, following them out.

Sarah spoke with pride and carefully weighed her words. "I've never even kissed a boy. You girls know, that I won't do anything more than snogging 'til I'm married...But, I suppose since the Lestrange boy is being such a gentleman I should make concessions."

"Oh come on, Sarah! Don't be such a Hufflepuff. As Head Girl you need fun in your life. Raphael and you would be perfect together!" Diana clapped her hands in jubilation.

"But I like the other boy too. Michael. He's sweet on me. Even if he's only a Half-blood. I dunno..."

Riddle listened and felt annoyance. How could Head Girl Sarah Smith, a witch who came from a long line of famous and talented Purebloods consider a low-born, dim-witted Half-blood like Michael Bradshaw! And deep inside Tom felt a stirring of self-hatred and doubt. For after all, it was true that he was just a Half-blood.

I am a Half-blood who is the Heir of Slytherin, he reminded himself. It was time to make his mark. He was special and great enough for anybody. Even Sarah Smith. She was easily the best witch at Hogwarts. The Head Girl was going to be his.

He hastened onward to the dungeons. Riddle would go to his Head of House and let Slughorn know he'd changed his mind. Originally, the invite to the social was declined due to wanting more study hours. But now, he had a reason to be there.

**NOTE: Please review! **


	5. Slughorn's Social

**Please review! **

**Chapter Three: Slughorn's Social**

The Head Girl was attired in a special dress for the occasion, a gay green set of satin dress robes sprigged with tiny, gold stars. Sarah was not confident the robes flattered her. She was always self-conscious of having auburn hair. Such few colours went with red-heads! But still everybody always reminded her that she was beautiful. Her complexion was porcelain, her lips fuller than most and she was tall and slender.

But Sarah had more on her mind than looks. She thought of the Pureblood, Raphael Lestrange. He wanted to be her suitor! Sarah knew her family would be proud to settle them into a marriage. That evening, she wasn't thinking at all of the little Third Year, Tom Riddle. In all honesty, Sarah found nothing impressive or memorable about him. He was after all, just a child.

Sarah was eighteen now and of age, looking to make plans after Hogwarts. She waited nervously in front of the entrance to the Hufflepuff common room and watched house-elves trooping back and forth to the kitchens.

"Why you look quite nice. Ready?"

A tall boy of seventeen stood before Sarah. Raphael Lestrange was a Seventh year Gryffindor, unlike Sarah in Hufflepuff. He had curly black hair, kind brown eyes and was wearing a bowtie with sleek, black dress robes.

"Thank-you," said Sarah with dignity. He held out his hand and intended Sarah to take it.

She did so, but hesitatingly. As the Head Girl, she was a very public figure in the castle and did not wish to make the statement she was going withs Lestrange boy. Not yet.

Sarah looked up at him, glowering. "I think my marks in defence will be higher than yours this term!"

Sarah and Raphael had long since held a rivalry since their First Year. But things had changed and it had cooled down since then.

Raphael gave Sarah's palm in his a gentle squeeze. "Let us hope so! Maybe I will be beat. Wouldn't be the first time you won."

Sarah smiled, but didn't say anything. That wasn't what Raphael would have said in the past. They used to quarrel all the time, but now things were different because the Lestrange boy liked Sarah in that special way.

They arrived in due course to Professor Slughorn's social. He had set up several classrooms to host the event. The rooms were festooned with green and silver decorations in honor of Slytherin house. Sarah frowned. She had never liked anybody from Slytherin, and had nothing to do with that house. Except of course for the Potions master.

Everybody was treated to a delicious dinner. It was about thirty students. Tom Riddle was one of the few exceptions for most them were in Fifth year or higher.

Tom bided his time and spent it watching Sarah with the Lestrange boy. He could see that plenty of others desired her. It was plain that Sarah Smith was the best prospect.

And he had a plan, a certain strategy to gain the Head Girl's attention. Tom only wanted her because there would be nobody better, nobody was more worthy than this particular young woman.

And there was a purpose to coming here. Riddle had put it all together.

Sarah meanwhile, was enjoying her time spent with Raphael for the first time ever.

The two of them were sharing an intimate moment, whilst holding glasses of mead and laughing at nothing in particular. For the first time, Sarah acknowledged what a handsome, and even friendly person he was. Before she had seen Lestrange as little more than a nuisance, a rude boy that wanted to steal the cake of top of the class.

So it was that Tom Riddle approached the newly budding couple, before a romance ever got to blossom. Unlike their fancy apparel, the orphan was clothed in his school uniform, yet somehow he looked smart.

"Hello there, Lestrange. We'll be together in the lab at St. Mungo's this term. Did you know?"

Riddle held out a hand for Lestrange to shake.

"Interesting. You're in the Junior Healer's program I take it?"

Riddle nodded. He completely ignored Sarah, feigning the appearance of being absorbed in Lestrange and totally uninterested in the Head Girl. It was far from the truth though, as his real target was her.

Raphael noted casually, "You are a young sort to be training to work at the ward."

"It's only a start. I have not decided what I shall do in future."

Raphael spoke of himself in turn. "I'm dead set on becoming a Healer. After I finish the Junior's program, there is several more years of studying. Junior Healing is only the preliminaries."

Raphael put his drink down and Tom watched. Riddle delved into the pocket of his robes and for one crucial moment grasped his wand.

Now that Raphael had stepped away with back turned, and Sarah was looking the other way, Riddle could step in.

He used all his concentration to use a certain spell.

A Confundus charm was cast nonverbally within these crucial seconds that elapsed.

The Lestrange boy jumped. "Damn! There is something I have to do, Sarah. It mustn't wait. I'll have to leave the party early."

Sarah looked concerned. "What is it? Can't it wait?"

"I have to back to my dorm. Lost something. So sorry. Good night, Sarah...And what was your name?"

Raphael looked at Riddle who was smiling broadly and widely in the distance. But to Lestrange's perception it was innocent.

"Tom. Tom Riddle."

Lestrange swept away, and called after, "It was nice meeting you, Tom. I look forward to working with you soon."

And Raphael hurried out the door, Confunded by this little Third year into believing there was some pressing paperwork.

Sarah looked disappointed. Riddle made sure not to look too contented.

He made himself sound perfectly engaging. "Raphael, made for such interesting conversation. A pity he had to leave so soon, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is," agreed Sarah serenely, hiding her displeasure. "It was odd."

Tom could see Sarah was scanning the room for friends. She was eager to leave him, it was obvious. And then he noticed that Sarah was actually taller. Riddle was only sixty-eight inches, but Sarah was about two inches taller even in her flat slippers.

"Your drink is almost empty," noted Tom.

"Yes. I will have to go get another glass of wine."

"Let me save you the trouble. Here-"

Riddle took his wand out and performed a re-filling spell on the goblet. The remaining droplets of wine re-filled to a full glass again.

Sarah brightened, "Why thank-you. I must say, most students don't know that spell until at least Fourth year. You're twelve years old. Correct?"

"I'm fourteen," said Riddle automatically.

Sarah raised an eyebrow and studied his handsome features. "You are a very quiet boy. I didn't notice you until yesterday. "

He knew intuitively to grasp the opportunity before him before Sarah slipped away. So Riddle was not afraid to boldly proclaim, "Nobody can understand what you see in that Half-blood."

For a second Sarah was shocked that somebody could be so rude. "Who? Who are you talking about?" said Sarah, without showing offence. "Oh, Michael! I didn't know there were rumors going around about me. It isn't true! He means nothing to me really."

"I would say the world needs more witches like you. Good, and loyal Purebloods."

" I suppose so. You could look at it that way, Tom. However, I am not good just because I am pure. My character runs deeper than my blood."

This discussion of principles in relation to blood purity really piqued Sarah's interest. She sat down on a cushioned chair and crossed her legs, dangling the glass and sipping daintily.

Tom followed suit at once.

"What really gets on my nerves," confided Sarah, leaning in towards him to whisper. "Is when people assume I'm slow or worse stupid because I'm a Hufflepuff!"

"They're wrong," stated the boy flatly.

"I think I may like Raphael. I'm entrusting you with that, Tom. So don't you dare tell a soul! For now, it's a secret until I decide to come out with it. I'm telling you all this, because I can tell you're a good boy. Well-behaved and not the type of child I would have to put in detention! Just last week, I had to punish some Third years for a prank. But I think you're rather mature for your age."

Riddle merely nodded, but inwardly was furious and felt almost belittled. Her opinion would have to change. She would see he was unlike any child! He was ready to be a man.

"I don't have a beau and never did. My Auntie Hepzibah said I'd better hurry, before I become an old maid! I'll be nineteen in September."

"How could they dare suggest such a great beauty is fated to be a spinster? Sarah, I don't see it at all!"

"I know. My family makes me insecure at times. I must be perfect for them, but I've known all along that I'm not!"

Sarah looked at Tom and realized for a younger boy he was indeed handsome. "You are so kind, and really such a cutie" she said playfully and actually pinched Tom's hollow cheek.

Tom did not react, his expression remained impassive and Sarah thought nothing of this. But slowly he laughed and pretended to have enjoyed the affection.

A thought flashed in Sarah's mind. She rarely plumbed any depth of cunning in herself, but a sudden realization hit her. She could use this little Slytherin to make Raphael jealous. Pretending to like Tom would make him want her more. She would be a tease.

"Tom, I must admit that I really do like your company for some reason," she lied coquettishly and then actually dared rub her leg against his.

At once Riddle stiffened with some alarm. He did not want to be touched until he gave this girl permission. It made him almost angry.

His dark eyes bored into Sarah's and she thought he was glaring. Through Legilimency he saw the plan. But Sarah could not know this. He was one step ahead of them. Sarah and Raphael would not be going together.

He must keep quiet though. Sarah must not know he felt a yearning passion, desire to possess her. She was going to be his, simply because she was the best and he was eager to discover sex through someone of great esteem. And Head Girl, Sarah Smith fit all those requirements.

**NOTE: Please review! I hope it is good. **


	6. A Bet Against Purebloods

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**Chapter Four: A Bet against Purebloods**

Word had gotten round about the Third year Slytherin accepted into the Junior Healer's program. Raphael Lestrange had told his friends. They in turn told everyone else. It was remarkable. Nobody under Sixth Year had ever gotten into the Healer's program.

Shortly after, one girl approached Tom in the library. She asked sourly, "You haven't even taken O.W.L.s! How can you pass the Healer's exams?"

"I shouldn't be too worried," Tom answered back. He elaborated. "Not unless OWL examiners have started covering infections and wounds!"

What Riddle implied was that none of the Healer's work would be standard O.W.L. topics. For the Junior Healer's program was not taken directly from the Hogwarts curriculum.

The girl stomped away grumbling that it wasn't fair how a Third Year got in and she didn't.

Nevertheless there was a point to the complaints. He was very young. In his arrogance, Tom had not a doubt that he would succeed.

But apparently that single student was not the only one harboring resentments.

The Slytherin common room was empty. Tom liked this time of the day best. He was burning the midnight oil because Saturday would be his first day at St. Mungo's Ward For Magical Maladies and Injuries. He had to get a jump-start in the Healer's program and in addition be fully prepared for all twelve classes.

They came in loudly and parked themselves at the large desk-table where Riddle was.

There was no choice but to abandon studies. The quill was set down, the book shut and the inkbottle capped. Tom eyed the threesome from across the table and inquired after them, dark eyes slanted suspiciously. "What do you want with me?"

He studied them and noted who they were. Rodolphus Lestrange, and a Seventh Year from the Noble House of Black of a name he didn't know yet, and finally the Avery boy. People Tom hardly ever spoke to.

Rodolphus, a Fifth year took the initiative. "I've heard that you're going to the Ward with my cousin Raphael. He's studying to be a Healer too."

"That is correct."

"What ambitions have you?" poked Rodolphus.

Tom remained unfriendly. "What's it to you?"

Rodolphus turned hostile. "You stole the scholarship right out from under Raphael. He would have won, if you hadn't been in the way!"

"Perhaps," said Tom unconcernedly.

Black said, "Perhaps it was needed. As an orphan this bloke needed his expenses paid. He couldn't afford his own books and materials!"

Riddle's pale complexion turned red all the way to his ears. He felt his heart pulsating with anger and embarrassment. This rankled him so much because it was true.

"Everybody knows you're an orphan. And everybody knows you've not an ounce of purity in your blood."

But that wasn't true and Tom knew it. But also, he knew better than divulge the huge secret. He was the Heir of Slytherin!

For the first time there were no words to defend himself with. It may have been this vulnerable position that made Tom reckless with what he said next.

"There is something else I shall take from Lestrange!"

"And what is that?"

"Let us make a bet that I take Sarah Smith's maidenhead by the new moon."

They cackled with merriment, doubt and amusement.

Then Black, who was nearly eighteen retaliated against this proposition. "You - pathetic little boy take the Head Girl?"

"Why not?" demanded Tom.

"Because…." continued the Seventh Year whose surname was Black. He spoke with maddening patience as if explaining this to a simpleton. "Sarah won't open her legs for just anybody! Smith, for all we know probably won't until she is married. If you decided to bet against us on that, you're taking a huge risk."

Meanwhile Rabastan was glaring at Riddle with something akin to hatred. "Raphael only just started going out with her. I heard they went to the Slugclub party a few days ago."

Tom laughed, but they did not know why. They had not learned it was because of him that their date was cut short. But the other interpreted the laugh as Tom thinking he was above the Slug-club. Riddle gave off such an air of arrogance he appeared to think himself better than parties and socials.

The Lestrange boy was still glaring. "I say, we tell Raphael!"

"Do that, Lestrange and all bets are off with me!"

"Why should I bet against you? What could a poor orphan possibly have that I do not?"

Tom considered this question posed by Rodolphus for a moment.

Avery broke into the conversation. "You can't give us anything. Because you have nothing!"

Riddle said, "What is the old saying. Yes. When you've got nothing, you've got nothing to lose! I cannot offer anything, but-"

Riddle was rudely interrupted by Rodolphus again. "What happens – If in the unlikely event I lose?"

"Here are my terms," said Tom, controlling and dominating the conversation, as if he was the oldest. "Whoever loses will write threatening messages to our dear Professor Pettigrew. The Divination fraud is a Mudblood. I want to get her sacked. Did you know?"

"Nobody would know you had a gripe against the lesser kinds!" rallied Black in an uproar. "You're always so quiet. You the orphan of Slytherin house. What exactly is your blood?"

"That" stated Tom pointedly. "Is not of your concern."

He was not ready to tell them he was the last remaining descendant of Salazar Slytherin, which made him the Heir. He must wait until he had them all completely under his charge. If ever that day came.

"So that's it? Write something rude to a teacher?"

"Let me finish," Riddle made his voice sound humble, but in a charming way. "If I lose, I shall steal all of Professor Beery's most valuable plants and sell them. The loser, whoever it is must steal these things and take the spoils to whoever wins the bet."

"What for?"

"Have you noticed what valuable, rare plants and unusual unguents and ointments Professor Beery has? Some of them may be of his invention. Whoever steals them and takes them to the winner would be doing them a favor. Then they could extort to the highest buying customer."

But Tom quickly saw that he'd said too much, for Black murmured, "Why you've got this all figured out. You seem certain you're going to win Sarah over!"

Tom immediately convinced them. "I'm not so certain, Black. Sarah is going to be a challenge. A challenge. But I will rise to the occasion!

"So, do we accept the terms?"

"Yes," assented Lestrange.

"And you Mr. Black," said Riddle in a falsely respectful voice, remembering they still thought they were his betters. "And you Mr. Avery?"

"We're both in on it, right?," said Avery to Black.

"I'm fairly confident young Mr. Riddle is going to lose. The Head Girl isn't going to have a thing to do with you!" And so with that Black, nodded his head at Avery.

But they did not know that Tom was already speaking to Sarah, and they were already on excellent terms. Yes, Tom had the upper hand.

"How will we know?"

"I will find a way to prove it. You will know, when I've taken her virginity." And Tom had lots of ideas in mind, all of them subtle when they expected outright proof.

"But-" and Riddle spoke almost threateningly. "If anyone informs an outsider of any piece of this arrangement, my bets are off!"

"He speaks as if he is the superior. This Tom Riddle, a mere urchin against us Purebloods. He does not know who his family was. He could be a Mudblood! How dare he talk down to us! It should be the other way around!"

Black had his wand out and he gripped it tightly. "As a prefect I should show this boy whose boss!"

Tom almost lost his nerve. Surreptitiously he dug into his robes and gripped the long, yew wand. But what help would it be? His powers against three older boys would not be enough.

"What have you against me?" said Tom convincingly innocent. "Let us shakes hands on the bet and be done with it."

"I don't think so," said Black angrily.

But Lestrange grudgingly took Tom's hand and so did Avery, only because it was a polite gesture they were raised to do. When a deal was made, it was only natural to shake on it at least.

Suddenly Black in his temper cast a curse. Riddle's body rebounded, flung against the wall several feet away. The boys all pattered over.

Black had cast a silencing charm as well as the curse. "We don't like outsiders, Tom Riddle. And especially we don't like you."

All Riddle could do was blink. His head was hurting and he was dizzy. He wasn't exactly scared, but aroused and shocked that somebody could do this to him.

"Yeah," grunted Avery. "You're making everyone whose Pureblood look stupid."

Riddle wondered why and what they were getting at.

"You're too smart for your own good, Riddle! You're making all the Pureblood witches and wizards look stupid because you're always top of the class. And I don't like it. Making bets with us was your idea. You'll lose. Furthermore, you crossed a line. Cross it again and it'll be worse for you!"

And the Seventh year Black cast another spell, a jinx on Riddle's nose. The blood spurted and it was crooked. It was just like a muggle row only wands were raised. A punch was thrown at him but through magic.

"Keep your little nose out of our business, Riddle!" And with that Black stalked away, back to the dormitories, Lestrange and Avery in his wake.

It was a quarter of an hour until the stupefying spell released him. Despite being bullied by a group of proud Pureblood, it left him satisfied. Tom had been planning to seek them out, but they had instead come to him. And they were doing his bidding by agreeing to the bet without being any the wiser!

**NOTE: If Tom had been older he would have been able to overpower even three wizards at once. This was a very difficult scene to write. I've never written about Voldemort getting bullied. **


	7. The Hufflepuff Common Room

**Note: Please review!**

**Chapter Five: The Hufflepuff Common Room **

Tom had never been inside the Hufflepuff common room before tonight. It descended to the basement of the castle near the kitchens, which was situated directly above the Great Hall. The perpetual coolness of the dungeons did not seem to penetrate here, in fact it was positively inviting and warm.

As a Slytherin, the boy felt no desire to have come. Until tonight there had been no reason for associating with Hufflepuff. The better part of an hour was wasted by the entrance. It was rather dull, staring at a tawdry painting of a fruit bowl. It had been boring, but there was no doubt this was the way to approach Sarah.

Finally, a Hufflepuff came along and spoke the password. Riddle invisible, stealthily trudged in. There was one terrible moment where the other boy felt him and almost screamed.

But being quick, Riddle covered the other's mouth and proceeded to confound him. The boy went onwards very confused and blissfully ignorant. The Confundus charm is becoming my signature move, thought Tom with a laugh at himself.

Riddle was still sporting the broken nose from when the Purebloods attacked him last night. He knew the spell to heal minor scrapes immediately, but did not wish to do so. The attention this brought was exactly what was needed for gaining Sarah's affections.

Tom noted the atmosphere. It looked like Professor Beery's greenhouses because of the flowers and potted plants hanging everywhere. But Professor Beery was not a Hufflepuff.

Their Common room was adorned with yellow rugs, ample blankets and carpeting. He could see Sarah reposed on a fat yellow armchair in the centre, talking to friends and downing Butterbeer.

He decided to remain invisible and watch for awhile. Nobody must discover this. Only the Head Girl would know that Tom Riddle had visited the Hufffepuff Common Room.

After another hour of time wasted, she told her friends a hasty goodbye with an excuse to study alone. What was more true, was that Sarah Smith enjoyed being alone. Sometimes. And being popular made that solitude difficult.

Riddle followed her blue plaid tartan bathrobe. She was holding a candle.

It took a few minutes for Sarah to get through the narrow tunnel. Riddle grabbed onto her elbow as lightly as possible and then tugged on her sleeve.

"Sarah, it is Tom. May we go somewhere private?"

Thankfully Sarah was not as flustered or frightened as expected.

"Of course. My private room is perfect. So you've done a Disillusionment Charm. I'm impressed."

And she did look impressed by his talents. "However, you did break the rules sneaking in like that. How long have you been doing it?"

Riddle decided to appear, casting the charm off and he materialized.

"Tonight was my first night, I can assure you."

Riddle felt forced to stoop so low as to play on her sympathies and look like one to be pitied. He must let go of pride if he was to have her. He looked like a whipped puppy.

"Well, it was breaking the rules. But I suppose since you wanted to see me, and I like you, I shouldn't say anything. Oh, just look at you! Tom, what really happened last night? I've been hearing all sorts of things. I don't know what or who to believe."

"Let's get inside, and I'll relate the entire story," said Tom and he guided her with his arm on the small of her back.

"It's just this way," pointed Sarah. "The third one down from here. On the right."

Inside, Sarah kept busy folding clothes and listening to Tom's explanation. It was not the truth but an exaggerated tale and certainly there was no mention of the bet being played out concerning her.

"Last night, I sat alone in my Common Room and stayed up past midnight with extra work," he noted that Sarah already looked sympathetic. "And several elder boys jumped me. They said horrible things to me Sarah and they accused me of being a Mudblood!"

Riddle was very theatrical in hotness and anger.

"It was six against one!," he exaggerated. "Very brave of them," was added sarcastically.

"They're cowards to attack someone just because they aren't pure. The things that must go on in that snake pit of the Slytherin common room!"

It was evident she was disgusted.

"I'd like to take on each of them. One by one," noted Tom vengefully.

"Oh, Tom. They're all bigger and older than you," and it was plain to see Sarah did not believe in this little Third year. She still underestimated his powers.

"Did you know that the Lestrange boy who hit me was your cousin?"

She was unfazed. "My first cousin on my mother's side. We are all inter-related somehow. I mean – us Purebloods."

By this faltering, Riddle was rudely reminded of being less than pure. But the Head Girl wasn't a harsh judge. She was unfailingly kind.

"Purebloods only mate with their own. Sarah, I can't see how you could even consider a lowly Half-blood! That Michael, I mean," he spat, but really thinking inwardly of his own Half-blood status.

The anger had spit out and Riddle regretted revealing this, but it impulsively burst forth. He was still stewing over last night's abuse.

"Michael Bradshaw is decent - but I've come to realize we will only be acquaintances."

Sarah's brown eyes locked onto Riddle's darker ones and saw potential there. Here was a young boy, a very handsome one that could make Raphael jealous.

She saw he was eyeing her now too, staring at the badge with Head Girl inscribed on it. It was with an envious and a hungry look. But the Head Girl only saw it as need.

Sarah at once busied herself about the room, folding clothes and putting them in the sturdy, mahogany drawers.

"So, how are things in the Junior Healer's program? You are studying alongside Raphael aren't you?"

"It is going splendidly. Raphael will be my lab partner."

Sarah took note of that as an interesting tidbit not to be forgotten.

He watched her folding shirts. The elves had brought up the laundry but it was always the students duty to put them away. Riddle took note of the ample garments and the luxurious silks, tartans, satins and even organdies. Again he was reminded how wealthy most of the Purebloods were.

"I've signed up for Beery's choir and his theater arts. So has my sister. I can't wait until mid-terms when we're doing a production for Hogwarts!"

"The artistic pursuits do keep our Herbology professor preoccupied," noted Tom casually and spoken very kindly. "But nobody told me you had a sister?"

"Mary is a First year. She's the sweetest little girl. She's not in Hufflepuff house. Ravenclaw. Yes, she's a good girl. But asks me such embarrassing questions in front of people! As a little sister, I think she can't help her curiosity!"

Riddle listened and listened more. The more he listened, the more the Head Girl naturally grew to like him.

For a quarter of an hour she was hanging clothes up without magic, bustling about and as always appearing vivacious with all her enthusiasm. It was a rule of Hogwarts not to use spells outside the classroom and as Head Girl, Sarah felt obligated to be an example. She refused all help from Tom.

"But sometimes I use magic outside of class. I'm sure you'd understand that. I've not tried a Disillusionment charm though. Maybe you can show me someday."

Sarah laughed gaily but nervously looked over her shoulder. She'd propped the window open. It was plain she was waiting for an important owl.

But nothing was said of the matter. Whatever it was, she wouldn't make it the visitor's affair.

Sarah flounced on the bed beside him. "Now let me see if I can't fix your nose."

The Head Girl's wand came out, holding it steadily and Tom made no objection.

Sarah looked nervous but the incantation 'Episkey' soon sounded. Almost at once, the broken nose was healed with a soft blue light and a hot searing feeling, and then an icy sensation.

"Thanks," muttered Tom, rubbing his nose. It was perfect again.

And almost instantly an owl swooped into the room, bearing a heavy parcel.

Sarah jumped to retrieve it and opened the seal. She sat down again at the foot of the bed.

"This is terrible! Oh, why must I be the one to bear such brutal tidings..."

She went from cheerfulness to misery all in a moment.

"Half my relatives have been slain by Grindelwald! I have family living in Germany, you see. They were kept as prisoners of war by the Dark Wizard because of their insubordination. They did not like Lord Gindelwald's plotting and so were sent to Nurmengard. Can you blame them? This is an official report of their deaths and their last words, intended to reach my family here in England. It was sent out to me, as well as father..."

Sarah couldn't help but sob.

"I've lost my mother due to the Dragon Pox several years ago. And now tragedy hits again."

"I'm sorry," said the boy and he squeezed her hand.

"Do you mind, Tom? I apologize for being such an unhappy host."

"No matter. You need rest and comfort, Sarah." Tom looked sorry, but inside he wasn't at all. There couldn't have been a better weak moment than this. He was secretly almost joyous.

Tom decided to expostulate and comment on it. "The wars have left their mark. I have lost my precious innocence. Youth may no longer have so many tender years! Last summer, during the muggle Blitzkrieg I was forced to hide in the cellar at the orphanage. It was during the bombings with sirens blaring, people screaming and all the windows were shattered. Sarah, I was terrified. All the poor young waifs like me were scared. I cried myself to sleep. Can you believe it?"

This account was true, but an exaggeration. Whilst Tom had been scared he could die, he had not actually shed tears. What was more, that night's dangers proved an opportunity to terrify the children with his magic. Tom had realized in the mayhem that the trace on himself would be impossible to locate and so was able to terrorize some orphans, even molesting them.

"Oh, Tom! I can sympathize with your plight. On a night like this, I miss my mother. I am after all, really half an orphan.

"I hate this. I hate Grindelwald and his reign of terror. When will it stop?"

"Someday our Transfiguration master will topple him. Dumbledore told me he's been looking for him, trying to catch him off guard."

"Nobody can catch him, say the Aurors. Oh, it won't be for years!"

Sarah hugged Riddle's shoulders and wailed without restraint, rocking herself.

Riddle went forward, pressing his advantage. "Sarah, don't lament so. You've much greater talents than most girls - er witches," and privately Tom was thinking she was also the best prize. "You're gracious and intelligent, and I can see from tonight you know how to have fun. The future is looking bright, isn't it?"

Sarah managed a weak laugh. She took out a handkerchief and dabbed her eyes.

"I saw from observation that Hufflepuffs like to have fun. Just as long as nobody's watching!"

"We are hard workers. But it's our best kept secret that we play hard too."

"A secret you say? Well then, your secret is safe with me," he said jokingly.

Sarah felt idealized and comforted. For a second she almost forgot the letters bearing the morbid news.

"I understand tragedy completely. My life before Hogwarts was a dreary one of dreadful drudgery until I discovered magic. How good of me to be here in your time of need!"

"Yes," conceded Sarah ruefully between hiccups, clutching him in an embrace. "I believe we are rapidly getting closer because of this. How can you not be my friend after sharing all this? Yes, Tom. We are going to be good friends!"

The Head Girl, as one who was loyal and true, loved making new friends. The more the merrier. She leaned further in and suddenly kissed him on his cheek.

These affections weren't exactly what Riddle sought, but it was a start.

Sarah curled up peaceably on the bed and Riddle joined.

They lay peaceably for several minutes, enjoying the quiet. Riddle knew Sarah wanted solace, and he did not want her to dismiss him when they were so close.

Sarah thought of Raphael and she wanted more. It was almost greedy. But she must make her beau jealous by using this boy.

Her head turned to Tom and her hand slid down his chest, resting on his stomach. Sarah did not dare touch his crotch, that would be too groping and too soon.

She got on top of him and her lips went for him. At once Riddle had an explosion of desire inside him, selfish and determined and passionate. But it wasn't love, it was all for him. He felt his pants grow wet and he longed to complete the act.

But Sarah would only kiss, and she was on top of him. With affection, she held his face and wondered if he even needed to shave yet.

She kissed him again, holding his face.

Riddle was growing unhappy with this. The first kiss had just happened. It had fulfilled some of his animalistic desire, but it could not suffice.

He maneuvered Sarah to repose on the bed and switched to himself on top. Sarah panted, turned on with a bead of sweat running down the auburn head.

He took the initiative, knowing he could and broke open the buttons of her bodice, underneath the heavy schoolrobes.

Riddle sighed hungrily and buried his black-haired head into the folds. It smelled sweet like honey and lilies of the valley.

The mouth found a nipple and he sucked on it, drawing and drawing from it, filling himself with the need. It may have been an unconscious desire for motherly affection, which he might get with this young woman.

Sarah laughed at these bold advances. "Oh, go ahead you naughty, little boy! How did you know? I love this."

Riddle groaned and out of spite for being called a naughty little boy yanked on a bit of the flesh and nibbled it until it was bitten.

The Head Girl was certain that Tom Riddle was a decent boy, and somebody to trust. He was worth using as an object to cause contention with Raphael.

"What a comfort you are to me, Tom. But now I really must ask you to go."

Riddle couldn't hide his disappointment.

""We will have better times some other night. I promise, Tom. I know I can trust you. But now I really must grieve the loss of grandparents, and my aunts and uncles. You understand don't you?"

"Yes," and Riddle withdrew himself.

But as a final farewell Sarah launched off the bed and planted another kiss on his forehead. "Good night and sweet dreams, Tom."

"Tomorrow night, then?"

Sarah's face fell. "I promised Raphael to be there for exam review in the library. How about next Friday at nightfall?"

"Very well. Good night, dear Sarah. For a lonely orphan, your company was a pleasure."

With a strange, mysterious smile Sarah watched him depart.

It was convenient to wait a week, it gave Tom more time to plot their next encounter. He had come so close. And yet Tom Riddle left the Head Girl's lair still a virgin. Taking the Pureblood's maidenhead must wait, but he was determined to make it happen, and prove that he'd won the bet and taken the prize, this jewel who was most worthy. She had unwittingly given him time.

**NOTE: Please review! **


	8. The Legend and the Dream

**Note: Please review! This would be such a good story if only I kept going. Sorry I have not been writing, just been sidetracked with reading books too much. **

**Chapter Six: The Legend and the Dream**

Tom waited until the others were asleep.

Lugubriously the boy lay staring out the window. The moonlight was shining magically. Shadows played upon the walls.

Before the others settled down, Tom had wondered about things, his powers, his family and the mysterious past. What significance did they have and what surprises lay in store? He would soon find out.

He crept out the covers just as a wild storm started raging. It was only mid-January and the trees, somewhere high above in the forbidden forest raised a ruckus. A blizzard would strike.

None of these weather patterns mattered. At Hogwarts, Riddle avowed was a safe haven for him. No need for great witches and wizards to battle against the elements.

Riddle raised his wand and cast several protective enchantments in the room. They should hold the others in slumber. But there was no guarantee like a sleeping potion, which would have been more effective.

His bare feet trod across the floorboards in a regular old dressing gown, pinstriped green and white like Slytherin house. It was an especially cold night, the chill seeping into him. The Slytherin dormitories located in the dungeons were not the warmest in dead of winter.

As a keepsake almost, Riddle withdrew the carefully folded bit of parchment. This was proof of being the Heir of Slytherin. He'd made a copy with a spell and would keep it forever. It was almost a sentimental meaning.

He reflected on that happy day a few weeks back when he'd discovered the relation to Salazar Slytherin. Indeed the last surviving Heir was fated to find the Chamber of Secrets! Tom had already went plundering through the castle but with no luck. Yet determined as ever, for there would be no giving up.

At a wooden trunk with TM RIDDLE inscribed on it he delved in and took out a plain black pouch. Out came a large gramophone through the tiny bag by usage of an un-Detectable Extension charm. Bored last summer, Riddle had stolen the muggle instrument, which had belonged to the matron, Mrs. Cole.

The record sounded a soothing score of classical music by Bach. He did not like much music much, but it was rumored to help the wizard trying to induce a trance.

Under the enchantments, the others would never know what went on.

Riddle did not jump back into bed despite the biting draft gnawing at his feet. He eased back slowly onto the propped up pillows, and closed his eyes. He must exercise tremendous caution and discipline.

Ideas and images of Merope's family filled him with auspicious hopes. He was sure anyone related to Slytherin must have led lives of grandeur and glory. The Gaunts must have been important, maybe he would ask those Pureblood chaps if they knew anything about the Gaunts. Surely they must have heard of them? Surely they must be related to Riddle, albeit very distantly?

His mind floated, about to drift away until snapped out of it jerkily. It was time.

His dark eyes blinked and in the darkness dilated with arousal and imminent excitement.

The bedside table had a bottle, a needle and a syringe.

Calmly Riddle took the stoppered container, opened it and measured an exact dosage. If the amount wasn't exact, the effects would prove lethal and kill him.

His mind was half-asleep, yet possessing awareness for what he was about to embark on.

The mind's eye saw clearly the instructor at the ward, introducing the Junior Healers to the most interesting healing potions.

Riddle saw himself the youngest of the group, wearing the same lime-green uniform, with St. Mungo's badges. The first day at the ward Riddle's sharp intelligence had already mastered dosage calculation. What was more, they all learned how to administer medicine with needle and syringe.

Riddle took out his left forearm and pricked it with the needle at the same time holding the syringe. He heard the instructor's voice again, "Basilisk venom. Extremely rare stuff, believed to have originated with the great Slytherin himself who supposedly kept a Basilisk."

Shooting into his vein, droplets of blood spurted. It was an injection of highly potent snake venom.

"Only one gifted with snake-language can use this stuff. Parseltongues in our world are uncommonly rare. Extremely beneficial when used correctly. With a time-turner a Parseltongue may regress to glimpses of ancestral history. This is because ancestral knowledge in witches and wizards is stored by magic in the blood. So naturally, Purebloods venerate their ancestors and esteem blood an invaluable treasure."

It had been clear that the teacher was also a Pureblood from these anecdotes.

Riddle's time-turner was coiled around his neck. It had been bequeathed this year with the strict order to be used only to navigate the class schedule. This was the first time Riddle was using it outside of schoolwork.

The venom would take another moment to reach the brain, he surmised objectively as if he was the onlooker to a patient. Stirred by the pulsating venom, the time-turner began, seemingly impelled by its own impetus.

Professor Pettigrew the Divination mistress also had a key insight regarding ancient secrets. She had stated that dreams were the answer to unlocking the mysteries of life and death. Tom could see now that she'd had been talking sense on that point.

Riddle took a deep breath and realized how nervous he was. Yes, he was afraid. It had already taken much nerve to steal a coveted bottle of basilisk venom. The authorities already knew someone who worked at St. Mungo's had taken it, but nobody had an inkling of an idea on the identity of the thief. The last people to be accused would be the young, inexperienced Junior Healers. Little did they know that they had the Heir of Slytherin on their charge. They didn't know how unusual he was.

He could not tell if he was either here or there, just a sensation of moving backward through time and space. It was a state of being in a void, but not discomfiting.

Riddle was a modicum of calm, awaiting patiently for an enlightening, even enthralling past.

Something was coming, a memory embedded deep in the unconscious. His skinny frame thrashed violently. Spittle dribbled out of the mouth. He would not remember this aspect.

A tiny babe was coming out of a morass of blood. The noise and the confusion of an external world, terrified this newly born creature. Tom Riddle was remembering his birth on a cold, New Year's Eve.

It was cold. The tiny child lay shivering and screaming. The mother was dying, blood everywhere. The uterus could not stop expanding, the child somehow sensed it's life giver was dying.

Instinctively, the babe knew it would live and it horrified him. The child screamed more, bloodcurdling screams. Oh the terror of being born! And Merope fast approached the unknown country. The last thing she heard was her son screaming, it was so like the blinding screech of death.

And everything stopped, for a moment present day awareness came back. But then the time-turner accompanied by the music and the venom like a poison seeping through the veins and brought more.

The instrument spun again, Riddle had no consciousness. He was moving through time and space. The surrounding vicinity was weirdly warped, a blur. Another dream started after awhile, but it was more than a dream. For this was an actual event, stored in the intelligence of blood.

Merrymaking ensued within the warmth of the crowded Great Hall. This was the Hogwarts of nearly a thousand years ago and it was fraught with witches and wizards.

Dancing and feasting was taking place. The tables were heaped with plates of medieval victuals, roasted bears and pigs some baked into pies. There were fruits and puddings. The Lords and Ladies donned robes but they were different. Knights were also in attendance and some of them were even witches wearing armor. This was not quite the same notion of chivalry that muggles possessed.

Riddle gained his bearings as the observer, but he noticed he had no shape and form. Just mind was present. He drifted like a ghost over towards the oaken doors, but there was a smoky, gossamer web there. Clearly the magic had boundaries and it was impossible to leave the scene of action.

Like a dream where you know you are asleep Riddle had full lucidity now. Somehow his presence moved over the throng. It was clear he had not the slightest effect on the outcome. These events could not be altered unlike usual time travel. He had been warned about the time-turner. But this was not the same.

A discordant sound rent the air and the people stopped their carousals. Knives and forks with mouthfuls of food hovered in midair and people paused in their steps.

At the opposite sides of the Great Hall two tall wizards stood, shouting at each other. Both of the friends were in a temper but their hands did not go to their wands.

"We cannot ask our Purebloods. Such a disgraceful notion you have, Godric! The nobles will not move over for low-borns from non-magic families. It is an outrage. We must not grant entrance to muggleborns."

The other wizard roared with laughter. "It is a worthy venture. Salazar, you must see that some of them are exceptionally gifted. Are you blind? We cannot deny anybody entry to my school whose got talents."

A woman named Helga Hufflepuff, another founder was nodding in agreement with Godric Gryffindor.

"Your school?" Seethed Salazar sarcastically, baring his teeth. There was pieces of meat stuck between the teeth, but for once this effect was not funny.

Rowena Ravenclaw and Helena, mother and daughter shared a significant glance. They shook heads in disdain. Nothing was done to break it up.

Slytherin drew forward, wand sliding out a leather sheath, like a sword of his own. "I will duel on my honor as a Pureblood."

"You are acting the fool, Salazar," said Godric calmly. "And a fool I would never hath called you before this night."

In one swashbuckling swipe, Godric wielded his sword in one arm, wand in other and a spell impacted Slytherin. Slytherin at the last moment, deflected it and the spell bounced back over the walls. It was lucky nobody was hit.

The friends, or foes for a better word continued the squabble. Both acted at the same instant, spells ricocheted across the hall.

Slytherin screamed with rage. His spell had backfired, hitting the windows. Godric sent a nonverbal, exploding like spell. It knocked old Slytherin on his feet, but otherwise unscathed.

"You! You!," said Slytherin in garbled speech, rising again. "You make the mistake, Godric! Not I! That sword bequeaths you queer powers. I have them not."

Godric laughed and some of the throng did too.

Slytherin turned his back, which meant symbolically an admit to defeat. The duel for what it had been, lasted only moments. For two such great wizards, it had not been extraordinary.

There was a collective sigh of disappointment from the band of knights. Slytherin was evidently humiliated.

"I will not be privy to Hogwarts admitting mudbloods." At the slur there was a gasp from Helga and some of the others. "I take my leave. Good night ladies and gentlemen. This is the last you shall see of me for a long time."

And nobody did see him for years. He entered the castle one day, unseen and went to his Chamber of Secrets. Salazar left things in it for his heir, one day they would be discovered.

The Great Hall almost went back to merry-making but some who had shared Slytherin's views departed, unable to find their leader. Rowena and Helga stayed resolutely at Godric's side.

After this Tom awakened. He wondered when he would fulfill his destiny. Yet he had to admit it was a bit disappointing to see Slytherin lose.

But it was his destiny to find the Chamber of Secrets. He must live up to the great expectations Salazar had for his Heir. Tom felt a bond with this dead person. Granted, Tom had never felt genuine connection to a single living soul. It was ironic that the one wizard he felt a connection to was deceased.

This great story, the legend and his dream infused Tom with a power. Basilisk venom was known to make great relics stronger, but not necessarily people. But Tom believed he felt his greatness now more than ever. He wondered if the basilisk venom boosted his powers.

He had just done magic that probably nobody had used in ages, if ever. Further he had seen things that nobody had for nearly a thousand years.

It was early daybreak, the birds twittering. A twinge of pale green coloured the sky. The trance or whatever state it was had lasted for awhile. He had been gone, lost in the past for several hours.

Tom would never remember the part where he saw himself in the womb, of the mother who wasn't strong enough to live for him. But the other things dwelt on his mind and seemed to give him direction. For someday Slytherin's heir would open the Chamber of Secrets and thus unleash the monster from within.

He sat up on the edge of the bed. There was a rising sense of purpose and power inside him now. Riddle's eyes gleamed with belief in himself, and a faith that he would follow in the footsteps of his venerated ancestor.

And most importantly, Salazar Slytherin had known his heir would come along one day. Was there a prophecy concerning him, the boy who had sadly originated in an orphanage was really practically royalty? Tom pondered this with almost delirious eagerness. It would confirm his distinction from other witches and wizards and mark him forevermore. A prophecy about himself was just what he hoped for.

**NOTE: Please review.**


	9. Magic and Music

**Please review! Sorry that I don't write, but it is difficult for me as I am tired of writing HP fiction to be honest. I've already completed several other stories, and sometimes feel I am beating a dead horse with Voldemort's character.**

**Chapter Six: Music and Magic**

Internally Tom debated what the events meant. Hitherto he now thought himself with his grand title, 'Heir of Slytherin'. His heart burned at Slytherin's defeat before leaving Hogwarts forever. Justice Tom believed would be done when the chamber was found. Mudbloods would be killed, and Slytherin would be shown to have been right all along.

But then Tom was after another goal these days.

Under a translucent evening sky, people filled into the Great Hall. Professor Beery's theater arts program was convening. The Herbology professor was keen to gear his students up for a magical night of performance. But this wouldn't culminate until May.

At the forefront of the long queues was Sarah Smith, seated at the grand piano. She had already been picked as the piano player for Beery was familiar with her musical talents. Sarah was a seasoned member of the theater arts at Hogwarts.

Students lined up for audition. Some were hoping to get the lead, or to be in the orchestra or at least to join the choir. Tom was different, not caring of what use this endeavor was. The violin was almost randomly selected as the choice. He had never cherished any self-expression, not even bothering to skulk round a London theater when he went traipsing through the city as a ward of the orphanage.

An hour later Riddle was having a go at the violin to an amazed, almost astounded instructor.

Professor Beery raised his eyebrows. "And you have practiced only a week?"

"Yes, sir," answered Tom steadily.

Beery chuckled good-naturedly. "Well done! I think that does it. You are my next and newest violinist. Really. So quick! You could give Mozart a run for his money, boy!"

There was much the boy needed to learn to do that. At once Riddle's face drained of what little color he had. How could this shame be lived down? It was an insult to be referred in connection to a muggle, even if Mozart was a genius. And what was worse, Purebloods were in ear-shot and must have heard.

"Such modesty," noted the teacher. Tom hardly heard, face flushed with shame, but what Beery took for humble embarrassment.

The bow lowered shakily, as if withdrawing a weapon. But this was no wand, this was a bow! He should not be training for theater arts. He must be working on becoming the greatest wizard the world would ever know!

He longed to be using his wand. This time was going to be dedicated to something less useful than magic. In Tom's book magical powers was all that mattered. But Sarah was a different story, she had a strong heart and a passion for music.

"Good work, Tom."

Without being prompted, Riddle slouched over to the Slytherin table. Sarah watched, still perched proudly at the piano. There was a look of sweet admiration for the Third year. It made Tom's heart go a flutter with want again. She was the sole reason he was here really.

Furtively, Riddle watched those delicate fingers tap, dropping notes idly on the keys. Mary Smith, the Head Girl's kid sister went to Sarah, and said something. Tom did not care what.

Just watching that beautiful woman wasn't enough. In his most secret heart of hearts he almost idealized her. What was she to him? He could not understand the feeling.

But then he knew what jealousy and possessiveness were for the first time ever in his life. Riddle always garnered jealous yearnings, but never in the genuine desire for another's company.

Raphael Lestrange was a strapping seventeen-year-old Seventh year. He was several inches taller than Tom, but like Tom had a mop of dark hair, yet it was curly. He strolled over, gravitating to Sarah.

It was too loud in the Great Hall to hear anything all those yards away.

He had a view of Raphael clasping Sarah's hand, where they sat on the piano bench. Tom gritted his teeth in anticipation.

It was plain the Head Girl enjoyed these flirtations. Both of them clearly loved an audience. When Sarah was his, there could be nothing, nothing revealed publicly! He was a private person and secrets must not be risked exposure.

He was all hot inside with suppressed anger perhaps even a rage. Giggles erupted around the couple because Raphael merely kissed her hand!

He sighed and knew to wait, turning away, sickened and disgusted.

Nobody would see him leave the Great Hall. The Disillusionment Charm was so strong when he cast it, it was like a heavy, vapory veil. Now was not the time to be center of attention. But that day would come.

He got one last look, feet rooted firmly to the flagstones, standing far removed from the scene. Mary Smith, who had giggled with the others before when he kissed her hand was still there. Now the little girl's sweet face radiated with the purity of childhood. Riddle sneered, hissing like a snake, taking notice. She was Sarah in miniature. There was no good reason to _not_ like her, but there was inexplicable hatred for the little girl anyway. Maybe it was for the lamb-like innocence. He didn't like her. Not at all.

He shrugged, forgetting about the little First Year. There was much more important people to form alliances with. The Head Girl was all that mattered. For today.

Minutes later, Riddle prowled the corridors, still invisible. Two figures brushed by, almost bumping from behind as they came round the bend.

Raphael baldly called out with the nerve to start using pet names. "Oh, Sarah, my sweetheart. You _are_ going to be my sweetheart. And everybody shall know it! Come along to the Gryffindor common room with me."

Sarah laughed and took Raphael's arm, linking it.

Riddle seethed, with stabbing pain, a vein on his forehead throbbed. His eyes were hollow. The walk ended. It felt like there wasn't room to breathe in the passage with them present. Inward jealously brewed like a witch's poison. It was this alluring, powerful witch. She has turned my head and I am submitting to human weakness, he thought bitterly. How could a wizard control such powerful feelings? How could he allow himself to be weakened by this? She had a power over him.

And the need inside must be met. By the new moon this would culminate into the prize sought. The Heir of Slytherin would come into his own, by usage of another's body. It filled Tom with excitement. He would emerge victorious and if ever any purebloods ever again thought the Heir of Slytherin inferior, they would be sorry indeed.

**Note: In JK Rowling's book, 'The Tales of Beedle the Bard' a Professor Beery who taught Herbology teacher at that time, put on a theater arts show . This was 50 years before Harry Potter's time. Precisely Voldemort's schooldays. **


	10. The Prefects' Bathroom

**Please review!**

**Chapter Seven: The Prefects Bathroom**

Tom was waiting, standing against a ledge, crossing his arms.

Sarah Smith entered the room with a subtle swish of robes. She was donning a purple silk, that brought out her exquisite complexion and emphasized the ginger hair.

"Dear Sarah, you've come. Good," Tom instantly gravitated towards her. There was a seemingly respectful kiss, lightly planted on her lips. She coloured at his touch.

He was not the least bit nervous. "I assume you've taken the precautions?"

"I have. The Prefects know I am here, but believe me to be alone. As Head Girl I ordered them to guard the area, as you said to. But how could you have gotten in here? Only prefects know the password!"

"That is another matter. It will not do to explain."

"I suppose so. You know quite a lot for such a young student. You're very odd," noted Sarah awkwardly.

" I am special. And you are a special lady. I think you deserve nothing but the best. Wouldn't you agree?"

She nodded. "I know I deserve the best."

She walked away, bare feet slapping against the tiles, puddles of water were everywhere on the floor. Someone else had used the prefects bathroom today and made a mess of it.

She knelt at the taps, feet dipped into the pool, and played with it, trying out all the different fumes and gases.

Tom watched for a moment. Sarah glanced at him standing there, as always in the same plain school robes. He had no other respectable wardrobe, and Sarah wasn't so tactless to remind the boy. She smiled and looked in his eyes.

The eyes staring back weren't brown, but a deep mauve. It flashed for a second like lightening or a spell and then was gone.

Riddle strode over to the bath, and quickly took off socks and shoes.

He joined Sarah, sitting beside her. Her hands still working with the taps.

Riddle grasped the front of the hand and squeezed it. To him it was like a mark of his control.

"Not tonight, dear Sarah. I've planned other amenities for the room."

"Have you?"

"Indeed. For example -"

He whipped the wand out and said, "Revelio."

All over the room, glistened thousands of rubies. They were on the bottom of the pool and they surrounded the pool, encrusted into the floor and the tiles.

"Where did you-"

"The house glasses. Borrowed from the Gryffindors..." Tom felt a pleasing satisfaction thinking of Sarah's real suitor, the Gryffindor, Raphael Lestrange.

"You'll put them back?"

"Of course..."

"Buy why rubies and not-"

Tom became downright seductive. He drew closer, wanting badly to have her now, but showing great restraint.

" 'Who can find a virtuous woman? For her price is far above rubies.' Ah, I believe I've found one-"

Sarah looked gratified by the compliment and deeply impressed. "You know the Old proverbs. Not many wizards could quote-"

The shock of his touch interrupted the thought. He kissed again, a light touch on the lips. Then an arm wrapped around her neck, and she felt his hold, clinging to her.

"But how did you do all this?"

"The Gemino curse, after undoing several enchantments. I made duplicates of these rubies, you may keep them as a gift. Then an Embezzlement charm and an undetectable extension charm..."

"No thank-you. My vault at Gringotts more than suffices for gold and jewels. I need no more. It would be greedy to take these treasures. Keep them."

A dark looked passed over his smooth, handsome face. "What is it?"

"There is nothing the matter," lied Tom. He could never admit how jealous he was for the Pureblood's fortunes, and how badly he wanted a key to a vault.

"Tom...You have impressed me. And you really do make for a pleasurable evening."

"It is time I told you a little secret. I have demonstrated with the rubies how worthy you are, Sarah. You are the most worthy young woman at Hogwarts."

"I believe so," Sarah acknowledged, feeling a burst of pride. It was probably true. She was the most sought after Pureblood witch in the school.

"So what is your secret?"

"You shall not tell a single soul. I discovered I am have a close relation to Salazar Slytherin himself."

Sarah was not so impressed this time, she even frowned. "Why is that such a great thing?"

Tom was disappointed but continued ranting, it sounded almost insane. "How happy and how justified it has made my ambitions for myself and for the world. I am related to a founder, there is some pureblood in me after all!"

"Oh, Tom! Don't think me prejudiced. I would still want your company even if it turned out you were muggleborn!"

The boy made a sour face, he was not pleased. "Slytherin wished to purge the school of the muggleborns. Mudbloods for use of the better word."

"I _hate_ that word," moaned Sarah miserably.

"Sarah, do be quiet," said Tom a bit amusedly. "Now, I am ready to begin my plans and they start with you. Yes, you! You shall help me rise up and bring Slytherin what he did not get a thousand years ago."

The talk seemed to bring over a confidence and initiative. The desire for intimacy became apparent.

He grabbed at her breasts, under the royal purple robes and squeezing them. And he kissed her neck, burrowing into her chest. Sarah allowed this, and put what she felt was a comforting hand on his shoulder, an embrace.

"Sarah, my sweetheart. You are going to make me happy tonight. I am going to prove the Pureblood wizards wrong. You are mine. How ironic it is that your initials are S.S...just like the great Slytherin himself! Slytherin's powers were great, mine shall rival him. But Slytherin paved the way for me, and I suppose I owe him so gratitude? Ha! Now come here, my sweet little S.S.! Yes, I will call you a pet name, you are my S.S..."

"Tom, what has come over you?"

Riddle looked up and withdrew himself from her arms, and slid into the warm water, taking her hand.

"Come, my sweet S.S. It is time for a consummation of sorts!"

"What! I-I can't do that!"

He was implying to take the precious virginity. Sarah prized that for marriage and so far possessed not even the faintest belief that this boy could be her future husband.

"Into the water, S.S. I am a Slytherin Prince...in fact I am more than that." But he didn't wish to reveal being the Heir.

Sarah was forced into the water, it reached up to her chest,supine breasts skimming the water. Tom was unabashedly, standing before her, naked.

She would not look at his budding manhood. This was not what she wanted.

He grabbed her in an embrace, almost shaking the tall frame of the Head Girl. This enthusiastic fervor was terrifying. The engorged manhood was rubbing against her thighs. It was hard.

"Are you ready for me, my sweet S.S?"

"Tom, please! I wanted it differently. I dunno. I suppose this will be enjoyable. But-"

"Unleash your pent up desires. I have found you worthy, Sarah! And I, am I worthy? Am I worthy?" He demanded an answer, and Sarah was terrified of the rage there under the surface. She daren't speal the truth, but this was wrong. This was not a lawfully, wedded husband.

"Yes, Tom. You are a worthy...man."

"Good...," he breathed.

They snogged together, wrapped in each other like tight coils. There was something squirming and swarming and slippery under their feet.

"The water serpents and the eels. They do not harm. But you'll find as a Slytherin of the first rank, I have great affinity to snakes!"

Sarah shuddered. And then there was one horrible scream. Something huge had entered her opening, it was expanding it. She clutched at his back.

And Tom pulled at the red hair, until the scalp began to bleed. And he devoured the blood with kisses, thinking how sweet the taste of Pureblood was.

**Note: There is more to come for this scene. Please review. I did not have time to write more today. **


	11. The Prefects' Bathroom 2

**Please review!**

**Continuation of...**

**Chapter Seven: The Prefects' Bathroom**

The water of the pool was cool, almost cold. Sarah was reflecting about her virginity, taken just moments ago. What had happened to the sanctity of the act? It should have been through marriage, in a traditional way.

Things heated up even more now. blue-bell flames were conjured, several of them sweeping over the surface of the water, like tea-light candles. Sarah marveled with brown eyes wide with wonder at the magic.

"Was it to your taste?" said Tom. He was looking at her again, in the face, peering intently. He knew more than was letting on. He knew she had grievances. Sarah felt relieved that the man or boy for want of a better word could still look at her.

"Did you enjoy it?"

Sarah wanted to cry that it hadn't been fully wanted, but then again it had been enjoyable.

"Let us have another go then. Shall we?"

Later Sarah found herself lain beside Riddle, reclining on his chest with a huge serpent betwixt them. Before, he made a convincing case, and then a demonstration that snakes could be tamed.

The snake wrapped itself snugly around both of them. There was an odd whispering like a lullaby coming from Riddle. Sarah had never heard of Parseltongue, and did not question it.

Sarah leaned forward and popped some crisps into Riddle's mouth, he reciprocated. She swallowed. "You know I'd never, ever have thought of it until tonight...Snakes are lovely creatures! This one is so warm, and there is a tenderness I feel when he is wrapped on me...As if the creature is secretly affectionate. Don't you feel it?"

Riddle was silent. The truth was he could not feel it, or really wasn't aware of it. He loved snakes because they did have love, which he lacked. But he would never, ever realize it of himself.

"Ah, yes. It is wonderful," he lied.

Sarah smiled like he knew she would.

Riddle twisted and rolled with Sarah over, so she was on top of him this time. He clutched at the small of her back, and looked directly at her.

"Now...like this dear, pet serpent...Your rule will be to obey me, S.S. Sarah. You are mine now. Obey my command."

The boy cocked his head, waiting to see what effect these words had. He wasn't sure this would work so easily. Sarah was headstrong.

"Yes, My Lord." He had told her prior to call him my Lord. Sarah wasn't sure how long she could keep up with her end of the bargain.

When they were dressed and ready to leave the Prefects bathroom, she turned and said good night. Her heels clicked and the tall young woman was heading to the door.

"Sarah. Stop."

He walked across the threshold with a glass bottle. It was a potion he had thieved off of St. Mungo's. No need to brew one himself.

"When you go back to the Hufflepuff Common Room...take this and drink it. This is a contraceptive potion. It will make you infertile through the next moon cycle."

"Yes, My Lord. But how did you procure something such as this? Or-"

"Never mind how I got it. You will obey."

She nodded without trepidation and looked straight at him.

"I will know if the order is attended to. You must do it at once. This very evening."

Sarah raised her head, tilting the chin, drawing up to her full height. In heels she was at least three inches taller. " Do you think I, as a Pureblood woman would desire an illegitimate child?"

Mentioning the idea of a bastard struck a chord. The old newspapers had recorded the marriage of the wealthy Tom Riddle Senior to Merope Gaunt in 1926. The wedding had been in June, which meant he would have been conceived out of wedlock in April, but at least he was not born a bastard.

"Drink it now."

"You do not trust me?" Sarah undoubtedly was not terrified.

He took her chin in his hands, and she blushed. "Is there reason not to trust you? I don't recall breathing a word about a lack of trust. Now if I sensed treachery in a great woman such as you...I would know. Drink."

She popped the bottle and the cork and downed it as fast as possible without choking.

There was a final kiss and then the night was over.

Later that evening, the young Lord Voldemort was stewing over it all. It wasn't just Sarah who had lost her virginity that night. Tom had too. He wasn't quite ready to tell the Purebloods he'd won the bet. But he already knew just how to prove it.

His hand flitted towards the glass of wine at his desk. It knocked over, dark purple wine stains formed, as it plummeted to the floor and shattered. He did not wish to lose more control by becoming inebriated.

He sighed. Should he have remained celibate? He wondered now, if losing his virginity was important to him.

There could be no going back. The wine on the floor would not be siphoned up for a long while. Tom eased back at the desk in his dorm, and instead of poring over schoolwork, masturbated to the thought of having that comely, auburn-haired woman alone somewhere again. It made him feel powerful and alive.

**Note: Please review! **


	12. Into the Pensieve

**Thinking of returning to writing. This story has been inside my head for too long! **

**Chapter Eight: Into the Pensieve**

It was just a few hours since Tom Riddle lost his precious virginity. The Head Girl, Sarah Smith had lost her maidenhead, and also felt misgivings. She should not given her body so easily, for her heart was tugging in another direction.

A group of boys flocked around a nook in the Slytherin common room.

The great grandfather clock struck midnight.

"It's over Riddle. So ...what have you to show? I suppose this will be your first failure!"

Riddle tilted his head back, smug.

"Black! Take a peek inside my memories. I'm afraid you are gravely mistaken." and his wand tipped to his gleaming temple. A gossamer strand came out, it floated through use of a Hovering charm and the strand dipped into a bowl.

"This... Is a Pensieve."

"I know what it is," quipped another boy who was even older.

Together they all ventured inside the bowl and fell into the bath scene.

Soon enough Riddle grabbed one of the younger boy's arm. "Enough. You have seen the truth. Now get out!" After all, this was private and even he wanted decency.

Because it was his memory, he could make them leave at will.

Vengefully, Riddle thought of the night he'd gotten punched in the nose and jumped by them, completely overpowered. He wasn't strong enough yet to out duel four older Slytherins. But for now, he grabbed young Black with a vice-like grip, bruising the boy's arm. It gave him some satisfaction.

"How did you do it?"

Riddle guffawed. "It's very simple," he started sarcastically, but was interrupted.

" Oh, shut-it you!," intervened Rosier. "How in Merlin's c-chest hair could you charm that witch into copulating with you?," Rosier was seething with revulsion, as if Tom was a rodent that had gotten the prize dinner. "You are just a poor, half-blooded orphan. She is one of the wealthiest Purebloods at Hogwarts. And somehow you wheedle in -"

Riddle suppressed showing anger. The true feelings were well concealed. "Gaining her confidence. That was all there was in my designs for gaining her affections. "

Black wasn't so easily fooled. There must be more to this story.

Tom wasn't looking as proud or arrogant as before. For he knew the reason Sarah Smith consented. It had been a success only because she wanted to make another wizard jealous. That Raphael Lestrange she'd been batting eyes at. Sarah did not take him seriously, but soon she would learn. Soon they would all learn. He was the Heir of Slytherin.

Black left without even saying goodnight. He slipped by unseen before anyone made an objection.

But the others were still there. They gathered acrimoniously round the lamp, viewing the Third year with filthy, dark expressions.

Bravely, Riddle strode forward. It was really a courageous thing to do but Tom was determined to be their leader one day. "Rosier. I believe it was you that dared wager against me. You have lost that bet. Therefore, you will cough up your promises."

"Promises? I make no promises!"

"Ha! Consider this your obligation then. It is a duty of Purebloods is it not? To uphold your word!"

There was an intake of breath. This Halfblooded urchin dared talk down to them? And so, they were held spellbound.

Steeling himself, afraid he would be ambushed by the others, Tom drew closer. Rosier was hit by Riddle's icy breath and successfully subdued by a freezing charm. Rosier struggled against the enchantment but could not move, only speak. What was more, Riddle's audience was captivated. Perfect!

There was an air of entitlement about him that further enraged the Purebloods. "At my command, you will procure my list of medicinals Professor Beery keeps inside the greenhouses."

"Why?"

"It is not your prerogative to ask. Only to obey."

But the audience would no longer allow this. "Riddle! You know you won the bet. Quit trying to make it more than it was. It was only a bet..."

"Only a bet? Antonin, my friend you claim this bet was of no import. But that is a claim, made in hindsight. After losing."

Riddle was clearly on the winning side of the logic to the argument. Antonin was confused and scared at hearing the truth. Dolohov was clever, but his wits were no match for Riddle's.

The Lestrange brothers, Dolohov and Rosier walked away from Riddle, Rosier especially giving a scathing glance Riddle's way. Rosier now had to do this younger student's bidding and it was an embarrassment because all the others would know.

Tom did not say a word but disingenuously watched from the sidelines, pretending to return to studying.

Alone, that night, Tom stalked up and down the dormitory, with much to contemplate. A part of him felt regret at not remaining celibate.

His heart was torn by two great passions, one for Sarah Smith. He must design a pretext for seeing that woman again. Perhaps another forage in the Prefect's bathrooms? But no that wasn't enough.

He was compelled by passion at recently uncovering his ancestry. He needed the Purebloods. Without them, there would be no worthy subjects for the Heir of Slytherin to rule over. If he was to be the leader of the Wizarding world someday ,they must be on his side.

After pacing he went to the desk and did some studies. It was rather enjoyable to Tom and before long lost himself in concentration. But then the nagging thought of losing his virginity resurfaced. Perhaps he shouldn't have done so.

He grabbed his goblet and took a rash swig of blood-red wine. He was so disappointed he wanted to lose himself in drink and forget losing his virginity. That idea made him angry, he exercised resistance by means of mad control. His hand swung out and shattered the wine bottle. He would not drink another drop tonight. He retired to bed, thoughts swirling through his mind of greatness and power.

**NOTE: Please review**.


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